You Wouldn't Like Me
by Adriana DiVolpe
Summary: Shelley/Amanda one-shot - FEMSLASH - In the course of actually doing something for herself, Shelley has a little mishap.


**prompt:** _blood_**  
word count:** 1094

**Author's Notes:** Not one of the better things I've written, I think. But the world needs fanfiction of this show, so bad or good, here's some fanfiction.

The title is stolen from the Tegan and Sara song of the same name, because I couldn't come up with my own title.

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**You Wouldn't Like Me**

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"Jennifer!" Shelley's polished fingertips paused over the glossy pages of her magazine.

Amanda glanced over briefly from the television. "She's not here."

"Well where is she?"

"She's gone to the shops."

Shelley paused a moment, taking this information in. "Candice!"

"She's gone with her. So if you want something, you'll have to do it yourself."

Shelley wrinkled her nose at the thought. Putting on a winning smile and her most syrupy tone, she crooned, "Amanda..."

"Nooope. Don't even bother."

The redhead frowned sulkily, tapping a nail against the page of the magazine. Lowering her head again she flipped through several pages, but eventually hunger won out. Tossing the magazine onto the cushions as she stood, she shot Amanda a dirty look on her way to the hall.

Amanda answered with an obnoxious smile and turned back to the television.

A few minutes later there was a loud shriek of pain and a few strong words. Amanda would have ignored her in favour of Coronation Street, but the cries of, "Oh my gawd, I'm bleeding to death!" that followed were somewhat troublesome. Even if she _was_ probably exaggerating, she was still very loud, and Amanda didn't want to have to deal with another of Lady Carlton's noise complaints.

Pushing through the door to the kitchen, Amanda surveyed the scene she was met with. Shelley was hovering about uncertainly, clutching one hand in the other. There was an abandoned chopping board on the worktop spread with segments of apple and a paring knife.

"You are completely hopeless!" Amanda rolled her eyes at her flatmate. "Let me see." There was quite a nasty gash on the side of her index finger, but it didn't look as though she had done any serious damage. "Oh, calm down, it's not that bad."

"It's disgusting! I can't look at it!"

"Stop being such a baby, it's not as if you cut your whole finger off."

"Oh _Lord_ that's _disgusting_!" Shelley whined unhappily. "Why would you make me think about that?"

"I thought it might get you to shut up, but _obviously_, I was wrong."

"Look, Little Miss _Sarcasm_, just help me already," Shelley snapped impatiently. "I'm standin' here bleedin' all over and all _you_ can do is make snotty little comments."

"Why should I help you at all? All _you_ can do is be rude to everyone all the time. Give me one good reason I should help you."

"Because I'm bleeding!"

"Would _you_ help _me_, if it were the other way round?"

Shelley glowered. "Who pays the rent around here? _Me_!"

"I understand that," Amanda said calmly, folding her arms. "I just want you to answer the question. Would _you_ help _me_?"

"Yeah."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Probly not," she muttered, eyes shifting to the tile on the floor.

"Why not?"

"I dunno!" She raised her voice in frustration. "Whadda ya want me to say? That you're a better person than me? Fine, I said it. Now will ya fix my finger? I'm bleedin' all over the flippin' floor." She was pointedly ignoring the sympathetic look Amanda was giving her.

"Wait here, I'll get some bandages," she instructed Shelley, who was cradling her hand like a wounded animal.

"I ain't exactly goin' anywhere," she called with a half-hearted irritation. She glanced at the blood running down her finger. "Gross." She wrinkled her nose.

After a few minutes Amanda came back with a small first aid kit, which she set on the kitchen table. "Come here," she told Shelley, turning the tap on in the sink. Shelley held her finger under the stream, trying not to pay much attention to the hints of red mingling with the water as it ran down the drain. She turned the tap off.

Withdrawing some gauze from the first aid kit, Amanda motioned Shelley forward. "Give me your hand."

Shelley hesitated, keeping her arm pressed against her body. "I don't want you holdin' my hand. Gettin' your... Communist germs all over it or somethin'."

"Well I don't particularly fancy the idea of touching _you_ either, but I can't help you unless I do. I'm not a miracle worker. So unless you want to do it yourself..." Amanda shrugged.

Shelley pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek sourly. After a moment's consideration she thrust her hand toward the other woman. "Fine."

Grasping Shelley's wrist, Amanda pressed the gauze against the cut in her finger to stop the slight bleeding that persisted. Shelley tapped her foot against the floor, gazing up at the ceiling. After a minute Amanda pulled back the gauze to check beneath it, and was glad to see no new blood forming.

"Is the blood gone?" Shelley asked, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "Can I look now?"

"Yes, it's stopped bleeding." Laying the gauze on the table, Amanda released Shelley's hand to unscrew the top of the antibacterial cream. Turning back to Shelley, who was examining her wound with a distastefully curled lip, she said, "Hold still while I put some of this cream on it."

Shelley obeyed without complaint, glancing up at the other woman.

Fishing an adhesive bandage from the kit, Amanda tore the wrapping off and held Shelly's hand still while she affixed it. As she finished, Shelley's thumb brushed the back of her hand, lingering lightly over her knuckles. Her eyes flicked up to lock with Shelley's, who was looking at her with a softer expression than she was used to seeing.

"Thanks, Amanda," she said quietly, another word Amanda didn't usually associate with the redhead.

"You're welcome." She smiled warmly, laying her left hand over Shelley's.

Rubbing her thumb almost imperceptibly against Amanda's skin, Shelley looked as though she was on the verge of saying something. But after a moment she pulled her hand back and twisted her head in embarrassment.

She checked her nails to make sure she hadn't damaged any of them when she'd cut herself. She hadn't.

"You don't hafta... tell the other girls about this," Shelley said to her nails.

"All right," Amanda replied, beginning to repack the first aid kit on the table.

"So I don't hafta tell them you're a big lesbo who tried to hold my hand."

Amanda's head snapped up, eyes widening. "What? That's not—"

"And I ain't cleanin' any of this up," Shelley continued, waving a hand breezily over the mess. "I don't do cleanin'." And with that she waltzed from the kitchen.

Gritting her teeth, Amanda wet a cloth under the tap and threw it against the drips of blood on the floor in frustration.


End file.
